


Hold Each Other

by Bus_Kids_Burgade (Inthemorninglight), Inthemorninglight



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bobbi is hopelessly smitten, F/F, Ficlets, Hurt/Comfort, Jemma is hopelessly enamored, fluff is not my native tongue but i try sometimes, jemma is a smol bean, smol and tol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2018-08-07 14:55:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7719157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inthemorninglight/pseuds/Bus_Kids_Burgade, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inthemorninglight/pseuds/Inthemorninglight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is soft. Love is fierce. Love is what we make it.<br/>...</p><p>A collection of Simmorse ficlets. Summaries at the beginning of each chapter.</p><p>one: When a mission turns into a kidnapping, Bobbi will do anything to get their biochemist back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gone

It’s her fault. Simmons is gone (no, not gone just missing) and it’s  _ her  _ fault. She screams at Hunter because he was the muscle on the recon, because it was his job to defend their brilliant, helpless scientists, because he’s been a jackass ever since she joined the team, because it’s easier to blame him. But deep in her chest lies the hard, spiny core of knowledge that Bobbi is the one at fault.

Because  _ she _ was supposed to be on that mission.  _ She  _ was supposed to be the muscle. But she’d asked Coulson to switch her assignment because the mousy little biochemist she’d rescued from the jaws of HYDRA was becoming more distracting by the day and Bobbi didn’t know what to do about it. And last night there’d been a moment. A confusing, mortifying moment where it seemed like Jemma wanted to kiss her and Bobbi had frozen up. She ran away and asked for a different assignment and now Jemma is gone (missing) and Bobbi will shake the world until it gives her back.

Fitz is going crazy and Hunter’s beating himself up and May and Coulson haven’t slept in at least fifty hours, but Bobbi, Bobbi is frantic. She masks her panic on base, but when they finally get a lead, she takes reckless chances. She goes after a suspect without backup. She beats him up more than she has to. She runs back into a collapsing building for a hard drive that might not even be anything. (It is, but that’s a fucking stroke of luck, as May points out.)

Mack tells her Simmons isn’t her responsibility anymore, but that doesn’t feel true. She thinks of that smile that could power a city and that soft, lilting babble that could buoy her in a storm and those shining eyes fixed on  _ her _ like Bobbi Morse is the greatest thing since the microscope. And she thinks of the fear in those eyes in HYDRA, how small and slow and sloppy that girl was as she raced bullets down sterile-white hallways, how scrawny she is, how much she hates guns. How fierce her loyalties are. (How much she’ll endure before she breaks.)

Yes, she  _ is  _ Bobbi’s responsibility. Not because of some assignment, but because Bobbi will give anything to keep her safe.

Coulson tries to confine her to the base after the hard drive thing, but Bobbi flat out refuses. If Coulson won’t let her come as a SHIELD agent, she’ll go on her own as an ex-SHIELD agent. The proclamation shocks both of them, but Bobbi feels how much she means it in her bones. Coulson lets her come with the warning that so much as one tiny breach in protocol and she’s off the team. Only the icy thought of never working with Jemma again keeps her in line.

They finally find her in an abandoned lab, working on some kind of serum with her captor’s gun pressed against her temple and lash marks on her face as evidence that she was not quick to comply. Hunter’s the one who takes out the guy with the gun, and as soon as Fitz and Skye are done hugging her, he catches her up in a surprisingly tight embrace.

Bobbi hangs back, so dazed with relief she can hardly move. Coulson finally lets Simmons go and there’s nothing between her and Bobbi. Jemma offers a tentative smile and it’s this, this hesitant, sweet gesture after days full of terror, after almost getting killed, after Bobbi basically slammed a door in her face, it’s this smile that drags her into motion.

Bobbi crosses the distance between them in a few swift strides, catching Jemma up in her arms and leaning down to kiss her. It’s tender and fierce all at once, long and dizzying and meaningful and right in front of everyone so she can’t take it back. She’s afraid to look at Jemma’s face when she finally pulls back, suddenly consumed with terror that she’s read the signals wrong or mortified her or ruined everything. But she makes herself look and it’s like looking at the sun.

Jemma is  _ beaming _ . Her hands are still woven into the hem of Bobbi’s jacket and her eyes are brighter than Bobbi’s ever seen them. A giddy sensation spreads through her.

“I should’ve done that a long time ago, huh?” she says.

“Yes, you should’ve,” Jemma breathes and springs at her, locking her arms around Bobbi’s neck and kissing her back.

“Wow,” Hunter says somewhere off to the right, sounding god-smacked. “That’s a new development.”

“Yeah,” Fitz sounds like he’s about to keel over.

Bobbi grins against Jemma’s mouth


	2. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi's back on base for a few days and Jemma's determined not to miss a second of it even though she's clearly exhausted.

“’M awake,” Jemma protests, bleary but indignant when she feels Bobbi reaching around her for the lamp.

Bobbi lets out an exasperated breath and drops her face into Jemma’s shoulder. She turns to press a warm kiss against Jemma’s neck and sits back against the headboard.

“You’re exhausted,” Bobbi accuses and brushes her thumb just under the bags beneath her closed eyes. “Sleep. Please.”

“No.” Jemma sounds as though Bobbi’s offended her and all her kin.

She’s nestled against Bobbi’s chest like a koala, but at the accusation she drags her eyes open and sits up.

“You’re here. I’m not missing a second. I’m staying up all night.”

Jemma juts her jaw in a way Bobbi’s sure she stole from her.

Bobbi rolls her eyes and huffs but it’s full of a fondness she couldn’t suppress if she tried. She opens an arm to Jemma. “Get back here, Shortcake. You’ve been too far away from me for too long already.”

Jemma gladly re-tucks herself into Bobbi’s arms, tangling their limbs together as though trying to root herself.

“Keep me awake,” she orders, tracing her fingers up Bobbi’s arm.

“Gladly,” Bobbi purrs and tilts Jemma’s face up to trace her jaw in kisses.

But it isn’t long before Jemma’s eyes are falling shut again, her weight warm and heavy with drowsiness against Bobbi.

“Please, Jemma, go to sleep,” Bobbi begs, flopping back against the pillows herself.

Jemma chases her warmth, rolling half on top of her without opening her eyes and moaning something incoherent. Her fingers tighten around a fistful of Bobbi’s shirt.

“It’s okay,” Bobbi says more gently. Jemma fits so neatly in her arms, easy to wrap up tight, the angles of their bodies sliding together like puzzle pieces. “It’s okay. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“I’ll still miss you,” Jemma murmurs into the crook of her neck. “I dream about you, you know.”

“Obviously. I’m the girl of your dreams,” Bobbi quips, pretending to preen even though Jemma isn’t looking. She feels her smile against her neck, but it’s only a flicker.

“No, I mean I dream about you and Hunter.”

“Not gonna lie, shorty, that’s a kink I didn’t need to know about.”

“I dream about you getting captured again. I dream –” she cuts herself off and tries to burrow even closer to Bobbi.

Bobbi rests her cheek against the top of Jemma’s head.

“Is that why you’re so exhausted?” she asks very quietly. When Jemma doesn’t answer, she lets her breath out in a weary sigh. “I dream about you, too. Getting hurt in the field, probably doing something brave and stupid to save the day.”

“I hate this.” The words burst from Jemma, twisted in sudden anguish, and she rolls all the way on top of Bobbi, holding onto whatever part of her she can find.

“I hate it too,” Bobbi whispers. “But hey -” she kisses the top of Jemma’s head and hugs her even tighter. “- We’ll be able to visit more now that things are blowing over. And we’re together now. Try not to think about anything else.” 

She rubs her hands up and down Jemma’s arms, a reminder that they’re both safe, then starts to trace patterns between her shoulders. Jemma lets out a long, slightly shaky breath that butterflies over Bobbi’s bare elbow. 

“Tell me a happy story about being on the lamb,” Jemma orders, and Bobbi does, talking long after Jemma’s breathing has evened out into telltale sounds of sleep, wrapping them both in her voice, trying to make her feel as safe as Bobbi feels beneath her comforting weight. 


	3. For Right Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Christmas fluff and angst because Bobbi's still on the run

A heavy hand lands on Jemma’s shoulder, and only then does she look away from her tablet, up at Mack who is offering her a glass of some sweet brandy drink. 

But she shakes her head. Whatever burst of Christmas they managed to scrape together is dying out. May and Elena have been sent out on a mission, Coulson’s asleep on the couch, and Fitz and Daisy disappeared a half hour ago talking about code writing. The candles are burning low, the old record player is crackling out “Blue Christmas” for the fourth time, and still the super-secret chat room Daisy set up for her shows Mockingbird is offline. 

It’s time, she supposes, to resign herself to the fact that Bobbi is not making contact. It shouldn’t surprise her really. It’s too obvious a day to risk even a top-notch-hacker-protected chat. And Bobbi may not even know what day it is. She may not have internet. She probably has lives to save and more important things to attend to, and Jemma understands that. It’s only luck that she’s able to stare at her tablet instead of being wrapped up in a crisis.

But there’s still a hollow pit in her stomach that she can’t will away. 

“Thank you,” she says to Mack, shrugging out of her blanket and making to climb out of her armchair. “But I think this holiday is about shot for me.” 

“Come on, one more drink,” Mack pleads, shaking the glass a little so the ice clinks merrily. “You can’t leave me with the mad scientist,” he adds in an undertone, nodding to Radcliffe, who’s on his fourth scotch and rambling about genetic mutations at the kitchen table to no one in particular. 

She smiles, but it’s apologetic. “I don’t think I’d be very good company.” 

She can’t help one more glance at the blank chat screen. Mack’s eyes soften. He kneels, balancing the drink on the armrest of her chair. “If she could be there, she would,” he says, low and certain, but somehow it doesn’t make Jemma feel any better. Mack reaches over and plucks the tablet out of her hands, lays it face down on the coffee table. “Have a drink with us, enjoy what we’ve got here.” 

He offers her a hand and half-heartedly she allows herself to be whisked from her chair. That’s when Fitz and Daisy burst back into the common room. Jemma barely has time to raise her eyebrows at their snow-dusted jackets and rosy faces before they’ve wrested her from Mack’s grip and are attempting to drag her toward the hallway. 

“Come on, we’ve got something to show you,” Daisy is saying breathlessly. 

“Hang on, hang on,” she splutters, yanking herself free and crossing her arms. “I’m not going outside; it’s bloody freezing.” 

“We’ll get you a coat,” Fitz says impatiently, grabbing for her elbow. “We’ve got to hurry.” 

Although she complains the entire way, they do manage to bundle her out of the common room and into an SUV, barely allowing her time to grab a jacket and boots from her bunk. 

“It’s late,” she grumbles, cranking the heat up. 

“Trust me, you won’t be sorry,” Fitz assures her from the backseat.

“We said we weren’t getting gifts.” 

“It’s not - well, not from us anyway.” 

Daisy yanks the wheel and they fishtail into a deserted side street. It’s strange to see DC so quiet, muffled by the snow and the night and the fading holiday. They skid to a stop at the edge of a tiny square, surrounded by sleeping shops. There’s a towering Christmas tree set up on the dais of an empty fountain and strings of colored lights crisscrossing the little courtyard. 

“What’s going on?” Jemma asks, eyeing the entirely-too-quaint setting. 

Daisy bites her lower lip in a grin. “Get out of the car and find out.” 

“Daisy - “ 

“Oh my god, go!” 

Trying to ignore the swoop in her stomach, Jemma pushes her door open. The air bites at her cheeks, tasting sweet and sharp in her mouth, and the untouched snow crunches under her boots as she slowly makes her way toward the Christmas tree, cautious of the ice. 

She’s halfway to it when the crunch of snow across the square brings her head around. 

“Hey, shorty.” 

Standing there in a long white coat, hair shimmering like spun gold in the light from the Christmas tree, Bobbi is an actual angel. And even though Jemma had her suspicions, the sight doesn’t fail to knock her breath away. And then a noise between a shout and a sob wrenches itself from her throat and she’s running, heedless of the snow and ice. 

Bobbi catches her up without sliding even a little on the slick ground, and her grip is as tight and desperate as Jemma’s and that, finally, fills up the hollow in her stomach. 

“I missed you,” Bobbi murmurs into Jemma’s hair. 

From the car, Christmas music starts blasting, something that sounds like ‘Santa Baby’. Bobbi snorts a laugh, but she obligingly gives Jemma a twirl and starts to sway to the music. Jemma stays pressed up against her, breathing in her familiar scent mingling with the crisp winter air. In Bobbi’s arms she hardly feels the cold. 

“How long do we have?” She’s almost afraid to ask, and the answer doesn’t come right away, threatening to pop the shining bubble of this moment. 

“Not long,” Bobbi sighs. “We’re on someone’s tale. We’ve got them bugged and Hunter’s listening to the feed, but when they move, I’ve gotta move. But I couldn’t be here on Christmas and not see you.” 

“And you’re alright?” Jemma murmurs. If she closes her eyes, listens to the sound of Bobbi’s breath through her jacket, lets the muffled music and the dim lights spin around them, she feels she can almost grab this moment.

Bobbi tucks a kiss against Jemma’s hairline. “I’m grand.” 

Jemma can’t stop the sob that wells up in her then, spills out into Bobbi’s shoulder, and she fights to suck in a breath before another one comes. She wishes she could stop, wishes she could smile and dance and let nothing tarnish this golden moment, but tears are coming too thick and fast for that. 

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” Bobbi says, peeling back just enough to dry Jemma’s cheeks with the back of her gloves. “I’ll cry and then we’ll be a frozen, snotty mess and that’s not as romantic as I pictured this whole thing.” 

She smiles, but it dims when she sees Jemma’s face. 

“Are you happy or miserable?” she asks, brushing the hair out of Jemma’s face. 

Jemma laughs but it sounds like chipped china. “Both.” She mops her face with her sleeve. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be -“

“Hey, no, it was dumb to spring this on you like this.” They’ve stopped swaying, now just standing in each other’s arms. “It was supposed to be romantic or something, but I guess all we really get to do is say goodbye again.” 

Bobbi has tears of her own clinging to her eyelashes now.

And Jemma wants only to make this better, to stop it from ending or to take away the sting of the goodbye. She wants Bobbi’s smile and her laugh and the feeling of her Star Wars sweatshirt against her cheek, wants to run her fingers through Bobbi’s long hair and give her peace and a moment where the world falls away and nothing matters but them. 

But she also wants to break and give this well of loneliness and longing and ache to someone else for just a moment. To say this is too hard. She could live on hope for precious minutes like these for an untold amount of time, but the inevitable endings she won’t withstand. They crush her every time. 

And Bobbi is waiting for her to say something, do something, decide how this is going to go, because she’s done everything she can do and it’s up to Jemma now. 

The song from the car changes. The Beatles rolls toward them, ‘Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas time”. 

Jemma stretches up on her toes and catches Bobbi’s lips with her own, slow and deep. 

“I don’t know how this is going to work out,” she says when they finally break apart because she has never been able to pretend for Bobbi, and Bobbi’s never wanted her to. “But I’m glad you’re here now. I’m so glad. Let’s… try to enjoy what we have here, now, right?” 

When Bobbi smiles it’s brighter than the whole glittering Christmas tree beside them. She wipes a few more stray tears from Jemma’s face and Jemma mirrors her. 

“Jesus we’re a pair,” Bobbi says through a watery laugh. 

“It’s Christmas, Agent Morse,” Jemma says, locking her fingers behind Bobbi’s neck. “Either dance with me or kiss me.”

“I bet I can do both,” Bobbi says with a sparkle in her eye, and this Jemma holds onto.


	4. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma makes a promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record I think Bobbi and Hunter end up really good friends. They're just at a weird point of negotiation here.

Jemma finds her (because of course she finds her) sitting on the roof tearing up bread for the pigeons. They hardly need bread, as Jemma has pointed out to her before. It will only keep them flocking to the rooftop and coating it in bird shit. But the bread’s stale anyway, and Bobbi’s sure that some of the millions of ratty birds in this city would appreciate it more than anyone on base could and it seems like a damn shame to waste an opportunity like that over a little bird shit.

It’s late now, and dark up on the roof, but not cold. Summer’s almost here and there’s an edge of humidity in the air tonight, but Jemma’s carrying Bobbi’s leather jacket anyway. Because she’s sweet like that. And because even in the sticky DC summers, Jemma gets cold, and Bobbi’s not sure why she finds that endearing, but she does. 

There’s an empty wine bottle lying next to her which Jemma toes aside with a raised eyebrow so she can fold herself to the concrete next to Bobbi. 

“That’s a bit misleading,” Bobbi tells her, holding up a finger. “It was already half empty when I took it.” 

Her words are a little heavier than usual, but the alcohol has done little more than burn a warm place in her belly. Her thoughts are still as brooding as they were when she climbed up here. 

“Aha,” Jemma says and her voice, perfectly normal in tone and volume, is so soft it makes Bobbi’s knees weak. She’s not even standing up and she’s still trying to work out how it’s possible to go weak at the knees while sitting cross legged when Jemma says, “And may I ask why you bought it up here by yourself in the first place?”

 

“I kind of wish you wouldn’t,” Bobbi says hopefully and leans her head back to look up at the light pollution in the sky above them. 

“What exactly did Hunter say to you this morning?” Jemma asks, leaning forward to look at Bobbi’s face. “If I need to kick his arse I’d love to know. I’ve been looking for an excuse all week.” 

“I get the feeling you’ve already ripped him a new one just on a hunch,” Bobbi guesses, lips quirking a little in a smirk. 

“He can always use a second one.” 

She’s brimming with so much fight, so ready to come to Bobbi’s defense with her tiny fists and dagger-sharp glares and god, Bobbi can’t take this. 

“It’s not Hunter - well it is, but it’s both of us.” She braces her elbows on her knees and leans forward, raking fingers through her hair with a humorless laugh. “You’d never believe it now but we used to be sickening, that’s how good we were together. At the beginning.” 

“Honeymoon phase,” Jemma nods but Bobbi shakes her head. 

“It was more than that. I mean you couldn’t imagine two people who seemed better for each other. And it was the same with Clint. And Nat.”

“And you think it’s going to be the same with us,” Jemma says slowly. Because on top of being sweet she’s also a genius and knows what Bobbi’s talking about even when she’s jabbering in circles twenty miles away from the point. 

Bobbi bites her lip and looks sideways at her, shoving her long hair back so she can see Jemma’s face. “I think I ruin things,” she says and is surprised how small her voice comes out. 

Jemma’s face softens. She leans in and lays a gentle kiss at the corner of Bobbi’s mouth. 

“I really don’t know how it happens,” Bobbi says, breathless and suddenly blinking back hot tears. “Maybe I’m selfish. Maybe I’m argumentative. Maybe I’m just not good at loving people - “

“Or maybe,” Jemma cuts in, running her fingers through Bobbi’s hair, “you want to love people so much, you just get carried away with it before you’ve really had time to see if the two of you are a good match romantically.” 

“You’re an optimist,” Bobbi says, teary and amused all at once. “I’ve never tried dating one of those.” 

“I’m logical,” Jemma corrects. “Which means I  _ have  _ thought about whether we’re a good match romantically.” 

“And what do the algorithms predict?”

Jemma purses her lips thoughtfully. “They’re about half and half for our success.” 

“The best part is I can’t tell if you’re joking.” 

“But you know what I  _ do  _ know?” Jemma takes one of Bobbi’s hands, then the other, and her eyes sparkle when Bobbi meets them. “Even if we don’t make it work romantically, you’re  _ always  _ going to have me.”

Bobbi shakes her head. “And how can you be so sure of that?” 

“Because you’re a good person. And I’m a good person. And as long as we promise to try to do right by each other, there’s nothing I couldn’t forgive.” 

Bobbi surges forward, closing the small space between them to wrap Jemma up tight in her arms, bury her face in the crook of Jemma’s neck. And Jemma runs her hands up and down Bobbi’s back. 

“I really don’t want to ruin this,” Bobbi mumbles against her. 

“You won’t. You don’t ruin things. And more importantly I don’t let things get ruined.” 

Bobbi pulls back, brushing roughly at the wetness in her eyes. A thousand things rush her brain, things this small, bright, fierce woman sitting in front of her surely deserves to hear. But they’re too big for the night, too big for Bobbi’s voice. So she finds a better way to say them. 


	5. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma's feeling under the weather and Bobbi finds a way to salvage their festive plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For aosadvent2017 prompt: warmth :)

“Look out below!” Daisy screams as she dives headfirst onto a saucer sled. 

“You have to watch where you’re going!” Fitz yelps narrowly avoiding Daisy and her sled as she skids past at a mad whirl. 

“I said look out below!” she yells from the bottom of the hill.

Fitz resumes trudging back to the top, muttering darkly under his breath. 

“Hey!” Bobbi chirps, dashing up the last few feet of the hill to join Jemma at the top. She’s breathless from her climb and laughing at Fitz and Daisy, a flurry of perfectly shaped snowflakes dusting her long hair. “I could use a partner for the tabogon. What d’you say, shorty?”

Jemma opens her mouth to answer, but instead sneezes neatly into her mittened hands.

“Bless you!” Bobbi says, startled. 

“I’m sorry,” Jemma groans into her mittens and gives her a miserable look. It’s hard to see much in the deepening twilight, but when Jemma lowers her hands, Bobbi notes a distinct redness to her nose and cheeks. Jemma sniffles and pulls her bright red jacket more tightly about her. “Ugh, I think I caught something. I was hoping the sore throat was just from dry winter air, but….” 

“Ten minutes out here in the wind has proved otherwise,” Bobbi says. She tucks a stray strand of hair behind Jemma’s ear and clicks her tongue sympathetically.

“Unfortunately I think so,” Jemma sighs and turns her face away as she starts coughing. “I think I’m going to have to wait in the car.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bobbi scoffs, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as Jemma starts toward the path down to the base of the sled hill. “You don’t have to sit in the car, we’ll get you home under a pile of blankets.” 

“Bobbi, we only just got here,” Jemma points out. “I’ll be quite alright in the car until you’ve finished, it’s only a cold.” 

Bobbi frowns. 

“Hey, what’s up with you?” Fitz calls when he notices the two of them making their way cautiously down the hill, Bobbi with her arm protectively around Jemma. He and Daisy are deep into a fierce snowball fight and his distraction earns him a faceful of snow. (“Daisy!”)

“Jemma’s not feeling well,” Bobbi tells them.

“What’s the matter?” Daisy asks, dropping her armful of ammunition. Fitz has already scrambled to his feet and is jogging to meet them.

“It’s only a cold,” Jemma assures them, her voice already growing weak in places. 

“You look flushed,” Fitz frets, and pulls his glove off to press his wrist against her cheek. 

Jemma rolls her eyes and pushes his hand away. “I’m just going to wait in the car.” 

“I think we should just go back to base,” Bobbi says authoritatively. 

“Yeah, that’s fine if you’re feeling crappy,” Daisy pipes up, standing and brushing snow off her coat.

“Oh no -” Jemma objects. 

“The snow will still be here next weekend,” Bobbi says placatingly. 

“Yeah, and you’re not leaving me on a frozen peak with that one,” Fitz adds in a stage whisper, pointing a thumb in Daisy’s direction. 

She smashes a handful of snow against the back of his neck as she trots up to join them and Fitz yelps. 

“And we’ll probably be in South America or somewhere,” Jemma says. “You ought to stay and enjoy the snow -” 

She breaks off to sneeze again into her hand. 

“Bless you,” all three of them chorus.

“How about a compromise,” Bobbi offers, an idea coming to her. 

… 

“How’s that?” Bobbi asks, adjusting the thick blanket around Jemma’s shoulders. 

The heat in the car is blasting. Fitz turns up the volume so his Hanukkah playlist fills the whole vehicle. 

“You always get to drive,” he gripes at Daisy, who merely smirks at him from the driver’s seat. 

She passes a steaming peppermint latte back to Bobbi and a second one for Jemma. “Alright Siri, where’re the best lights in town?” 

“Siri,” Fitz says, disgusted. “It’s a complex algorithm tapped into multiple satellites that read light signatures.” 

“Dude I wrote your code for that fancy walkie talkie,” Daisy reminds him. 

“Turn left up here,” Fitz tells her as she pulls out of the Starbucks parking lot. 

“Ay-ay, Captain.” 

Jemma nestles into Bobbi’s side as they glide through the dark night, her tea pressed between her palms.

“Feeling better?” Bobbi asks. 

“I imagine I’ll be feeling worse by the minute tonight, but for the moment I’m quite content,” she says. 

“Warm enough?”

“Plenty.”

“Would you look at that,” Daisy says, slowing the car to a crawl as they hit a residential street ablaze with colorful lights. 

“D’you see that one, Jem?” Fitz asks eagerly, pointing out a giant Hanukiah lit up in gold and blue out the window to their right. 

She grins when she sees it. “Hanukkah sameach.”

“We should start decorating,” Bobbi says, squeezing Jemma lightly. 

Jemma settles back as they continue down the long street, nearly every house lit up with candles or holiday lights. The car is gloriously warm and cozy. Her tea soothes the ache in her throat, and Bobbi’s arms and Daisy and Fitz’s commentary warms her from the inside out. 

“You know I love you sometimes,” she murmurs just so Bobbi can hear. 

“Yeah, you’re not too bad yourself,” Bobbi quips. She presses a soft kiss to the top of Jemma’s head. “Now, pay attention to the spectacle.”


End file.
